


Conversation/Recalibration

by Hopetohell



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), The Cold Light of Day (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dialogue Heavy, Injury, Violence, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29713749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: Hated you before.No you didn’t. You hated the gap between what you are and what you could be.Will and August have a conversation about where all this is headed. A mob story.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 1





	Conversation/Recalibration

And yeah, August is nursing a nasty stab wound so he’s moving a little more carefully than usual. _Won’t heal if you keep poking at it,_ Sy’s complaining; _whatever fucked up shit you get up to with that girl of yours, at least try to leave your wounds alone, alright?_

And of course there are no promises; August is a menace but he’s not a liar. So if he keeps his mouth shut it’s an absolute guarantee he’s going to get up to, as Sy puts it, _fucked up shit._

_He’s like you._

_No shit._

_You gonna?_

_Have to, yeah.  
_  
And Will’s sat down in the chair with a split lip and a face like thunder; even with only one good arm August’s put him in his place like it’s fucking nothing and Will has to admit— at least a little— that he’s scared of August. 

August _fucking_ Walker is a possible future; he’s what Will might become in five or ten years if he doesn’t self-destruct: hard, cold, competent. Will’s already got the blood kink and he’s halfway to the rest of it, but there’s that wildness that holds him back. 

_Let’s try this again. Who are you?_

_You know who the fuck I am._

_Yes, I do, and I’m asking anyway. Who. are. you._

He’s Will Shaw, twenty-nine years old, and he is on August’s last goddamn nerve. He’s wild and wanton and this would be a whole lot easier if he wasn’t hardening more in his jeans with every strike. Will’s embarrassed but it’s not because he’s hard, it’s because it’s August. The man’s a holdover from Papa Shaw’s reign, loyal not to the father and not to the son but only to his own mysterious schemes. Possibly to that pretty little thing Will sees coming out of August’s room once in a while, whatever her name is. Will’s only ever heard him call her _Pet._

But anyway. 

_It’s not about power or prestige. It’s not about the guns, not about the money._

_Then what?_

August hits him again. And Will spits thick and bloody; he is livid but he doesn’t rise. He sits and watches August, watches his hand.   
_  
You and I are going to leave this world the same way we came into it, bloody and screaming. What you do in the in-between is up to you. Are you going to get your shit together, or are you going to self destruct before you ever bring anything good to this world?_

August hits him again. 

Will’s spitting mad but the gears are turning; _what do you mean, good? When has anything about any of this ever been good?_

_Think about the long game, kid. Think about where our supply lines begin and end, think about where the money goes when it leaves your hands._

_Why are you doing this?_

_You ask too many questions._

August hits him again. 

_I’m going to tell you a story._ It’s a story about a government dog who had a choice, who felt the sting of betrayal deep in his gut (and his fingernails, and the long hard lines of his belly and legs, and the three implanted molars in his jaw) and said no more. It’s a story that plays fast and loose with details but the fact is this: in one moment, he could’ve taken the path to ruin, the path that would’ve killed him in his bid for revenge. 

_Will. Vengeance is a fool’s game. I was a hunter of men for a long, long time but it wasn’t til I chose to bite back at the world that I sealed my own death warrant. Doesn’t matter what the reasoning was. I believed it when I told myself it was for the best, killing some to save others._

It’s a tale of Paris and London and Kashmir; it’s a tale of scheming and death and _three billion people? Walker, how—_

_Like I said. Vengeance under a savior’s name is still vengeance, and it’s damning._

_But you didn’t do it._

_True. But you don’t understand how close I came._

Walker says he doesn’t do vengeance but he’s a fucking liar. That’s what Will says, anyway, just before August hits him again. And maybe he is, maybe he isn’t; does it matter so much anymore?

_So what happened? What changed?_

_Nothing at all. It was a stupid accident, got hurt in the getaway and that was it. Six weeks in a hospital and in the end my chance had come and gone._

_And now you’re here._

_And now I’m here._

And August hits him again. 

_Who are you?_

Will Shaw is twenty nine years old and his collar is wet with blood; he’s got a shiner and a split lip but after the first few punches it’s all been heavy openhanded slaps that leave his cheeks burning and ears ringing, that carry his head to the side and his lips are wet with red spittle; he is a mess and tomorrow this is gonna hurt like hell. 

_You— you’ve got some balls, doing this._

_Who else is gonna do it, kid? If it’s me it’s easy, you can hate me after._

_Hated you before._

_No you didn’t. You hated the gap between what you are and what you could be._

_Which is?_

And August raises his hand like he’s gonna hit Will, but he doesn’t. Instead he says _do you remember what I told you when your father died?_

_Yeah. You said ‘fuck this up and I’ll bury you.’ So what are you waiting for?_

_Have you fucked it up?_

_I don’t— I don’t know what I’m doing._ It’s gritted, pained, each word like sandpaper on an open nerve. _All of this— you said to see where the money goes. But I don’t know what the fuck that means._

_If you’re serious about all this, I’ll show you._ August turns on his heel and leaves. And for a moment Will just sits and bleeds. 

And then he follows.


End file.
